Jag’s hands, freed from duty ion the cock, slid easily over Anton’s body, massaging, pressing, brushing, tickling. He knew all of
the right spots to give attention to. When his mouth had carried Anton
beyond any chance of refusing, his fingers explored his anus – tickling the puckered hole till it relaxed. Then an exploring finger entered, searching for the walnut shape that was the prostate gland -
the seat of orgasm. When the shattering, shuddering climax came, that
gland was stimulated from inside and outside. The other hand wrested
the last ounce from the balls as the flood of seminal fluid exploded
from the spunk store, crashing through the prostate, to fly in spasmodic wads up through the straining, surging shaft, filling Jag’s
mouth and throat faster than he could cope with it, and flooding out
down the sides of the pulsing, dying rod. Later Jag licked him completely clean – ready for the companion whom Anton would certainly now
accept to share his bed for the night…